Wild legacy

by Conn, Phoebe

Belle had not seen Dominique so depressed since Sean had been taken captive. She hated to see her sister so sad, and yet knew the love she had to offer just wasn't enough. Dominique had not mentioned Etienne even once in the time he had been gone, and Belle doubted this was the time to remind her.

  "It's this awful war," Belle murmured regretfully. "It has everyone unsettled. No one can live out his dreams until it's over." She left the bed and paused for a moment to scan the souvenirs that littered the top of her sister's desk. "I

  didn't realize you'd dated everything. Doesn't that make it easier to organize?"

  Dominique picked up a card. "This is from September of 1777, but who was Bruce Nesbitt? I can't recall a single thing about him. I don't know if we met at a party, or if he was visiting someone we knew. Can you remember him?"

  Belle repeated the name and shrugged. "I'm sorry. I can't place him either. Why don't you just put all that away and begin keeping a diary tonight?"

  "I've nothing to write about tonight."

  "Well, just start with your thoughts then. What's important to you now? If it's no longer being the most popular dance partner, then what is it? Perhaps describing your dreams will help you achieve them."

  Belle gave her sister's shoulder a fond squeeze, then went to her own room. She was too restless to sleep, but afraid if she lay down for a nap she might sleep too long and not be able to join Falcon as she had promised. As he had insisted she promise, she thought to herself. She sat down to brush out her hair, then put away her clothes and donned her nightgown, but she felt more like crying than awaiting their rendezvous with the appropriate joy.

  She knew precisely what the trouble was, too. Falcon was simply bored. That's why he had insisted she visit his room, and she was so hurt she did not know if she could hide it. "Why should I have to?" she worried aloud. She got into bed and sat hugging her knees until the house was perfectly still. The last time she and Falcon had been together, he had taken her to the Scott house, and she tried to recapture the loving warmth she had felt for him then, but as she tiptoed down the stairs, she was only partly successful.

  She let herself into Falcon's room and added a log to the fire before approaching the bed. She had thought he might be asleep, but he raised the covers to welcome her to his

  bed. She slid in beside him, then leaned over him to kiss him and he nearly crushed her in his arms.

  "God, how I've missed you," Falcon moaned.

  The fire on the hearth lit the bedroom with an amber glow, but Belle's curls veiled her expression and Falcon had no hint of her distress. He felt only her sweetness, and responded with an enthusiasm which quickly taxed his small store of strength. He kissed Belle once again, and then tugged on her ruffled gown. "Get rid of this," he urged.

  Belle sat up to pull it off over her head, then let it slip to the floor. Only two months pregnant, there was no change in her lissome figure, and she had no fears Falcon would discover her secret as yet. She leaned over him again, and the tips of her breasts grazed his chest. She felt him shiver with delight, and with his next kiss, all of her doubts melted away. He was right—this was where she belonged. Her qualms dissolved by his eager kisses, she gloried in it as greatly as he.

  Falcon ran his hands down her spine and over the smooth swell of her buttocks. He did not want to rush her, but he needed her so badly he soon grasped her waist to pull her across him. She knew what to do, and rose up to draw him inside her. Wet with wanting him, she sank down on him slowly, then swayed, rose, and fell with a taunting rhythm that flooded them both with an ecstatic heat.

  When her erotic play had coaxed the rapture to its peak, Falcon drew her down into his arms and muffled his cries in her hair. He held her clasped in a tight embrace and felt her heart beating wildly against his chest. He knew he would soon want her again, but unlike the nights they had spent together in the past, he lacked the strength now to follow through.

  "I love the way your skin feels next to mine," he whispered in her ear. "It's softer than satin or silk. It's a shame we ever have to wear clothes." Belle started to move aside,

  but Falcon tightened his hold on her. "No. Stay with me, just like this."

  "That's all I've ever wanted," Belle replied. They fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, and neither awakened until the rooster began to crow to greet the dawn.

  Belle sat up to shove the hair out of her eyes, mirrored Falcon's startled expression, and scrambled out of his bed. Not surprisingly, the nausea that plagued her upon waking struck in full force, but she fought not to give into it in front of him. She yanked her gown on over her head, but before she could race for the door, Falcon leaned over to catch hold of her sleeve.

  "Kiss me again," he ordered.

  Belle could not have kissed him had her life depended upon it, and breaking free, she rushed to the door with her hand clamped securely over her mouth.

  "Belle?" Falcon stared after her, at first thinking she was merely afraid her mother would find them together, but after a moment's reflection he realized it hadn't been fear he had seen in her eyes, but something quite different. She had looked sick, and Belle was never ill. He lay back down on his pillows and flung his arm over his eyes.

  What he saw then was that he had demanded so much of her time he had simply worn her out and not once thanked her for all the loving attention. He had expected it, demanded it, and even this morning asked for more rather than thanking her for staying with him. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself but his remorse swiftly turned to dismay when he realized what he might really have seen. He felt sick himself then.

  Had he been able to, he would have pursued Belle up the stairs, but he doubted he could make it as far as the door. He swore with disgust, knowing he would just have to wait until she returned with his breakfast. And then what would he say? He had thought they were as close as any man and woman could possibly be, so if Belle were preg-

  nant, why hadn't she told him? When had she known? It had been two months since the first time they had made love, and even if it had happened then, she couldn't have known long. Still, if she did know, why hadn't she told him?

  Nearly two hours had passed before Belle returned with his breakfast tray, and he had not gone back to sleep. Jean was the one who helped him whenever he needed to use the chamber pot, but the two of them never got into lengthy conversations during those occasions. That morning, however, Falcon was unusually reserved. He waited for Belle, not knowing how he would ask the question he must, and yet so anxious to do so, the wait was agony.

  When Belle at last appeared, dressed in blue and looking as pretty as she always did, he waited until she had laid the breakfast tray across his lap, and then grabbed her wrist so she could not flee the room again. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

  Belle had hoped he had not guessed the reason she had fled his room earlier, but because he had she would not lie. She sat down beside him on the bed. "You have enough problems, Falcon, without my adding to them."

  Falcon watched tears fill her lovely blue eyes. "You are my wife, Belle. If we have made a child together, we ought to be celebrating. Did you really think I was so selfish that I wouldn't be glad?"

  He looked furious rather than pleased, and Belle wasn't surprised. "You may call me your wife, and we may feel married in our hearts, but that is not the same as being legally wed and you know it. I wouldn't force you to marry me last summer, Falcon, and I won't force you into it now."

  Falcon released her hand only long enough to set the tray aside, then he pulled her down into his arms. "You promised to forget what happened last summer," he reminded her, "but I was hurt when you wouldn't marry me, Belle.

  I hadn't even realized I wanted a wife until you turned me down, and then I just ached with wanting you."

  Belle sat back to look up at him. "And that's why you left home so soon?"

  Falcon nodded. "I hadn't forgotten you wanted to get married in church. I just wanted to be able to walk. I should have mentioned that, too, shoul
dn't I?"

  Belle nodded, then snuggled down against him again. "I don't care if you can walk or not, but if you have to be carried into church, you're going to look awfully unwilling."

  Falcon laughed and hugged her close to his heart. "No one who sees the width of my smile is going to think me unwilling, Belle." He held her a moment longer, and then released her with one last squeeze. "Will you please ask your father to come in to see me when he finishes his breakfast? I know he'll give us permission to marry, but I want to do this right."

  Belle slid off the bed and smoothed out her skirt. "You won't tell him?"

  "That he'll be a grandfather? No. Not yet, not until you're ready."

  "Thank you."

  As she turned away, Falcon called her back. "You don't feel you have to marry me, do you? I want to be your first choice."

  Belle leaned down to give him a kiss that removed all his doubts. "Oh Falcon, there's never been anyone for me but you." She watched his smile slide into a wicked grin and shook her head. "That smile would be most inappropriate when you ask my father for my hand."

  Falcon wiped his mouth and made an effort to look serious. "How is this?"

  "Too stern." She kissed him to coax another smile from him. "There, that's as perfect as you are."

  Falcon knew he was a long way from perfect in all re-

  spects, but any man who had a wife who was blind to his faults was blessed indeed. "You are the perfect one, Belle, and I hope we have a pretty little girl who looks just like you."

  Belle smiled as she left to summon her father, but she wanted a son who would make her as proud as she had always been of Falcon.

  Falcon ate his breakfast, then suffered through Arielle's attentions to his leg. He leaned over to watch her rebandage his wound. "It's healing well now, isn't it?"

  "Yes. It most certainly is," she assured him, "but that is because you have not put any weight on it. All we can observe is the surface, Falcon. The wound has to heal deep inside your leg, too."

  Falcon leaned back against his pillows. He did not care what his aunt advised. He was going to try standing again today, and every day until he could walk as smoothly as he had before he had been shot. "I understand."

  "I'm so pleased that you do." She withdrew, and a few minutes later Byron appeared.

  "How are you today?" he asked.

  Falcon shrugged. "I'm much better, but sick of being in bed. I don't want to discuss my health, though. I want your permission to marry Belle. I know I announced that she had said yes, but I want your blessing before we begin planning the wedding."

  Falcon still looked pale and he had yet to regain the weight he had lost, but his forceful declaration gave clear evidence he would not be an invalid long. "Of course you have my blessing, but I'd like you to wait until you're well. There's no reason to rush the ceremony, is there?"

  His uncle was giving him an opportunity to confide in him, but Falcon would not break his promise to Belle. "Yes. There's a good reason," he exclaimed. "I want her too badly to continue sleeping alone."

  Byron laughed at his nephew's candor, but then shook

  his head. "This is no time to begin a honeymoon. Belle would never complain about having to wait on you, but you can't expect her to keep you entertained all day and all night as well. Think of her for a minute, Falcon. Wait until you can take care of her to make her your wife."

  His aunt had admonished him to do the same thing, and Falcon nodded obediently. "I don't plan to stay in this bed a second longer than I have to," he swore. "I want you and Aunt Arielle to help us decide on a date, because Belle will want to have a new dress made, and I'll make certain I can walk down the aisle."

  Byron folded his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels. He had debated the future of the country in the Continental Congress with more success than he anticipated having with Falcon. It was not unreasonable to ask that the brave be fit before he wed Belle, but Byron sensed that would be a futile demand and gave in.

  "All right. We'll begin making the wedding plans but I think we should have a private ceremony for the family rather than attempt any kind of a lavish celebration in the midst of the war. Belle has never cared much for fancy parties, and I know you haven't, either, but I don't want either of you to be insulted if we don't invite half the town."

  "Christian and Liana didn't have a big wedding, and neither did Johanna and David," Falcon reminded him. "It wouldn't be right for us to have more than they did, and Belle and I don't need it. We just want it to be legal so no one can ever say she isn't my wife."

  Byron had once had his doubts about Falcon, but they were gone now. He and Belle were as perfect a pair as he and Arielle were and he knew every day they spent together would be happy. "What are you going to do when you get well?" he asked. "Fight with the militia again?"

  "Is Cornwallis still moving north?"

  "No. Your victory at King's Mountain has kept him in Charlotte for the moment."

  "He won't stay there," Falcon predicted darkly. "He can't."

  Byron knew better than to forbid Falcon to return to the war when his own actions in support of independence had cost the lives of so many other men's sons. "If the war spreads to Virginia, we'll all fight," he promised. "Now get the rest you need, and let Belle and her mother prepare for the wedding."

  Falcon smiled as though he intended to obey, but as soon as Byron had closed the door on his way out, the brave began inching across the bed. If he got up, even for a few seconds, each time he was left alone, he was confident he would regain his strength far more rapidly than if he remained in bed. He grabbed the bedpost and eased his left leg out of the bed. When he pulled himself upright, he was still shaky, but a tad better than he had been yesterday, he thought.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and slowly eased his injured leg off the bed, too. When that simple act sent horrible pains shooting up his leg, he forced back his tears and made himself endure it. After all, a bullet had passed through his leg so part of the muscle was gone, but it would grow back in time. The problem was, he did not have a month or two to recuperate.

  Belle came through the door and stopped instantly. "My God, what are you doing?" She rushed to him then, and saw how badly he was hurting. "You've got to get right back in bed," she scolded. "I don't want you to get sick again."

  Falcon let her help him get back into bed, but it was a humiliating ordeal. "Your father wants me fit for the wedding. I didn't want to tell him we didn't have any time to lose."

  Belle sat down on the side of the bed and took his hand. She knew what her parents expected of her, but she had no regrets about losing her virginity before her wedding night,

  nor of being pregnant, either. She just did not like feeling squeezed between the way she had been raised to behave and the choice she had made.

  "If we have a six- or seven-pound babe next spring, no one is going to believe he was born early. I shouldn't have asked you to keep it a secret, but I'd no idea Father would have any conditions."

  Belle looked so miserably unhappy, Falcon could not bear it. He reached out to pull her into his arms and rubbed her back lightly. "I want us to have a proper wedding, Belle. Now don't worry. By the time you have your dress made, I'll be able to walk. Etienne will be back soon, and I'll have him help me exercise."

  Belle rested in Falcon's arms. She wasn't ashamed, but she wished she could believe as he did that they were already married. Liana's family had abandoned her on the Barclays' doorstep when she had fallen in love with Christian, but Belle would not have to give up anything to wed Falcon.

  She sat back and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with me, but everything makes me cry these days."

  Falcon took her hands and kissed her palms. "It's the baby, Belle. Liana and Johanna get upset easily when they're pregnant, too. Don't you remember that? I won't give you any other reason to cry. Now let's take turns reading to each other today. You shouldn't have to do all the work."

 
; "Reading isn't like work," Belle insisted.

  "Maybe not, but we'll take turns all the same. Now bring me the book, stretch out here on the bed, and I'll read to you for a change."

  Belle got up to get the copy of Henry Fielding's Tom Jones and brought it back to him. The young man's adventures were entertaining, but as she curled up beside Falcon, she did not think the fictional tale could rival their own.

  Dominique had slipped into her father's study to consult his maps, but no matter how often she redid her calculations, Richmond remained maddeningly far away. Then she would become angry with herself for being anxious to see Etienne again after the cavalier fashion in which he had deserted her. At Belle's urging, she had begun a diary, but the entries were confused ramblings that made no sense at all upon a second reading.

  Dominique could recall once flirting so easily, but she no longer possessed that talent, or perhaps, curse. Anticipating Etienne's return, she had attempted to practice provocative conversations in her mind in order to control her own emotions as well as manipulate his, but the romantic instincts which had once served her so well now failed to provide the necessary material. She could not think of a single amusing phrase or teasing jest with which to greet him, and she did not want to confront him with angry rebukes and reveal just how badly hurt she had been by his failure to bid her farewell.

  Nothing made any sense when she thought of Etienne and more often than not she would simply end up with her

  stomach tied in knots and her hands shaking as though she had never spoken a single word to a handsome young man. That she could have been reduced to such an awful state by a man who cared nothing for her was heartbreaking, and the only way she could get out of bed each morning was to think first of how much Belle needed her to help with the wedding.

  Still in possession of her organizational ability, if little else, she went out to the garden to survey the flowers. They would be able to decorate the house with chrysanthemums and roses, but she wished they had had the abundance from which to choose that existed each spring. When Etienne walked up behind her on the garden path and tapped her